to B. L. F. (1924- 2012)
after the War
a young man
left the Carolinas
permanently
found a dirty
desert oil town
new friends
brought his ways
lost his accent
wore long argyle
socks
the child
played at his feet
her hands crept up
feeling the softness
to the knees, stroked
the socks in the heat
on the plush carpet
seated at the low table
no other furniture
an empty living room
tall glass windows
staring off at wooden
derricks, bare tan earth
the glare throbbing but
cooler inside, keep
to the shade
at least
the breathless air was dry
unlike the swamps back
home, the young man
watched the child
indulgently.